


His brother, the Band Aid

by wincestplease



Category: SPN, Supernatural
Genre: Comforting Dean Winchester, Depressed!Sam, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Self Harm, Suicide Attempt, h/c, insecure!Sam, self loath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 16:24:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1611638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wincestplease/pseuds/wincestplease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's broken, and Dean hurts along with him, until they devise a plan on how to be okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His brother, the Band Aid

**Author's Note:**

> Please be careful. The following content contains triggers such as Self Harm, Self-Loathing, and Depression. Read with caution, loves!

“You promised you’d stop.” Dean’s voice cracks as he chokes out the words, grabbing hold of Sam’s wrist, his eyes widening at the sight there. “Sammy, _you promised me_.”

Sam looks up at Dean, his eyes filled with the fear of being found out yet again. “I’m _okay_ , Dean, stop treating me like I’m 5,” He mumbles, trying to jerk his wrist away. But Dean wasn’t letting his kid go anywhere without explaining. The 14 year old watched his older brother with a watery stare, Bambi eyes unblinking.

“Sam.”

Sam lets out a long, broken breath. “What do you _want_ me to say, Dean? That I’m sorry? That I won’t do it again? That I know I should’ve told you?” His voice breaks and he can feel Sammy start to shake and tremble. “I’d be lying.”

“Christ, kid, come here.” Dean uses his hold on Sam’s wrist to drag him in tight against his chest. “You’re hurting yourself, and you’re hurting me, and for no good reason at all.” Dean whispers to Sam’s hair. He wants to cry, but there’s nothing left in him. He’s spent all his tears on this already. His fucking kid. _Why, Sam? Why?_

Sam’s inner arms, mangled with the cuts of his own knife, from his own hand. Some faded and pink, some fresh and jagged.

Dean thinks he’s going to throw up.

He almost does.

“There’s a lot of good reasons.” Sam breathes, leaning into Dean, letting him take his weight. He wants to dissolve into Dean forever. Dean didn’t hurt. Dean wasn’t painful. He could  hide in his big brother and never have to face the world.

“Really? Because I’d love to hear what insane reasons you have, things _so untrue_ , they’d cause you to do this to yourself.” Dean lied. He didn’t want to hear. He didn’t want Sam to say a single word more about how much he hates himself because he wasn’t sure he’d survive another blow of Sam’s self-loathing.

How his kid could hate himself as much as Dean hated the thing that killed their mother, Dean wouldn’t ever understand.

Dean looked at Sam, and he didn’t see a single flaw, didn’t see a single thing that he’d change, other than this vicious disgust Sam harboured for himself, a kind of feeling Dean saved for monsters and killers and people who were mean to Sam.

 _Sam’s beautiful_. He’s beautiful and kind and he’s lovely and the fact that he doesn’t see that hurts Dean worse than any physical wound ever inflicted on him before. He wishes that his words of comfort could be like sunshine, entering his Sammy and blowing little pockets of light to disrupt the dark within him.

Sam doesn’t answer, and for that, Dean’s a little relieved, but he’s also frustrated. This had never happened before, this _wall_ between them. Dean always understood every single part of his baby brother and now there was this _thing_ that separated them, the thing that made them opposites:

Dean loved Sam with enough force to give world peace.

Sam hated himself with enough power to start the World War III.

And neither could understand the others point of view. Dean couldn’t fathom how Sam could hate someone as wonderful as himself. Sam didn’t get how Dean could love him when he was so worthless.

“I’m scared, De.” Sam finally chokes out, after a long silence. “I don’t want to be like this.” And who _does_ want to be like he is, all hurt all the time, dragging around 500 pounds, feeling worthless, feeling disgusted with himself? _He just wants to be okay._

Dean hugs Sam tighter on instinct, feeling Sam come apart in his embrace, clawing at Dean to get closer, his baby’s breath coming out in short, rabbit-fast gasps, pupils blown wide in the darkness of the motel room.

Anxiety has Sam in its black clutch.

Dean gently removes his own shirt, knowing it will calm Sam.

As soon as the fabric is out of the way, Sam gets impossibly closer to Dean, pressing his face into the bare skin of Dean’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. It’s steady.

“Then you don’t have to be.” Dean soothes, hands stroking down Sam’s hair. “We can figure this out together, Sammy, okay? You’re not alone. You’re not. Not ever—not with me. We’re going to get through this. You’re going to be just fine, baby boy. I mean it.”

Sam nods yes, eyes shut tight. He’s still shaking, but his breathing has calmed some.

“But that means no more secrets. You feel the urge to…hurt yourself…you get me right away and I’ll be right there with you. You don’t gotta be alone through this, Sam. You got me, and I’m not going to let this break you apart. I won’t let this eat away at you.” Dean promises fiercely, meaning every word, kissing Sam’s head and wrapping his arms low around Sam’s waist, wishing that his kid would stop shaking. “We’re going to get through this. Together.”

“Won’t be easy.” Sam sniffles. “I’m more broken than you think, De.”

Dean shakes his head. “No, you’re right; it won’t be. No one said it’d be easy. If it was easy, I’d be worried. You’re not broken, Sammy. You’re hurt. And that’s okay. Everyone hurts. But you can’t hurt forever.”

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. You should just leave while you still can,” Sam whispers, even as he holds Dean closer.

Dean rolls his eyes despite the tense air. Sam could be so oblivious sometimes. Didn’t he see that he’s literally the center of Dean’s entire world, and has been since Dean was four? “I’m not going to abandon you, dummy. I’m in this for life, _we’re_ in this for life. Me and you against the world, eh? It’s always been me and you against everything. This is just one more battle we gotta win.”

“Together?” Sam asks. Dean feels his own heart flutter when he hears the absolute hope in Sam’s voice, something he’d missed. “We can…I mean…we’ll do this together?”

Sam actually sounds like he can see a light at the end of the tunnel, and to hear that, to see that flicker in Sam’s eyes…Dean wouldn’t trade it for the best apple pie in the world. Wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Dean rests his chin on the top of his kids head, feeling his warmth spread to Sam. This isn’t okay, nothing about it is _okay,_ not the scars on Sam’s wrist or the self-hate he nurses. But it will be. It has to be.

Outside, the world could be burning down around them, people could be—and were—dying, dying of cancer, dying of old age, being killed, killing themselves.

 The wars continued and pollution tore away at the world around them slowly, but they weren’t anywhere there, living in those catastrophes.

They were here, in this moment, in the dusty motel room with a beautiful broken boy clinging, clinging to his hope, his salvation, who had a heart like band-aid, meant to fix every broken piece of his baby brother.

Dean kisses Sam’s hair, and a lovely promise ghosts off his lips. “Yeah, Sammy.” He whispers. “Together.”


End file.
